D.E.N.I.A.L.

I wish Aretha Franklin would cover a song about denial. "Respect" became a female anthem, one which personfies the type of honor that women demand. Seriously, I want to sing along, with that melody, but spell "denial" instead!

That's where I am. I'm in crazy denial. I wish there was a better way to explain it.

Everyone keeps asking me how I'm doing, when I'm moving, and the details about where I'll live and work. I answer in this robotic tone which betrays the my heart's acceptance of everything. I cannot believe this is all transpiring around me; it feels like an out-of-body experience. Even though I've had almost three months to get used to the idea, I'm not, well, used to it yet.

Just this afternoon, I took yet another nap. I don't know why, but my body is responding to this whole ordeal with an overwhelming need to sleep...for hours! After my nap, I started packing. Jack brought me several boxes and I began filling them with happy memories. Y'know, the pictures of us at the beach, in the pool, on vacation, during holidays, etc. It sort of feels like I'm packing for a long vacation, not for a secondary residence. Just how many Q-tips and bars of soap does one need for a year? And that's not even the true picture...I'm really only packing from week to week. That mitigates the stress; I know I will be home next weekend. So anything I neglect to pack can be grabbed next weekend when I return home. So how many Q-tips do I need for a week? Crap, I wish there was some fancy algorithm to help me figure this out.

This is WEIRD. I feel like I'm living in a movie and the "Chariots of Fire" theme song is playing in the background. Except in my case, maybe it's "Chariots of QTips?"